The Derby Girl

by Tamara Morgan

  Aha. Things were becoming a little clearer. It must be time for the monthly tirade on Gretchen’s predatory habits as she single-handedly tore the food from the mouths of Janice, her equally stodgy and triumphantly middle-aged husband, and the twins they forbade from having contact with Gran outside of a pair of annual birthday cards stuffed with money.

  “Okay, Janice.” She waggled her fingers in a clear sign to bring it on. “Hit me with it. I’ll give you exactly five minutes, and then I’m slipping in through the window and getting one of Gran’s shotguns.”

  “You know we’ve asked you to keep those locked up a hundred times. It’s not safe.”

  “I thought you wanted to hasten Gran’s death, not prevent it.”

  Janice made a pair of fists at her side. “It’s not doing any of us a favor if she gets locked up for shooting the UPS guy.”

  “We like our UPS guy. He brings us things. By the way, you’ve wasted a whole minute already.”

  “Gretchen, if you aren’t careful, you’re going to end up exactly like Gran. Cranky, unforgiving, alone—”

  “Don’t forget rich and seeing a hot young piece of ass.”

  Janice’s eyes flew open in triumph. “I knew it! So you are aware of him.”

  Janice wasn’t the only one feeling triumphant in that moment. So that was what today’s visit was about. For once, Gretchen wasn’t the object of all Janice’s financial fears—a place she’d unequivocally held since the day she’d moved in.

  It seemed she’d been usurped. By a life coach.

  “Of course I know about Freddy. He’s a sweetheart. He’s also in the habit of bringing us things.”

  “I’ll bet he is.” Janice looked around, as if suddenly realizing they were having an important family discussion on a front porch and at full volume. “Can we please go somewhere more civilized to have this conversation?”

  “There’s not really a conversation to have unless it’s about your newly reformed commitment to minding your own business. I’m fine. Gran is fine. There’s not much more to say.”

  “Oh? A broken ankle is fine?”

  “It was an accident,” Gretchen said through her teeth. “It was late at night and Gran got a little disoriented. It happens.”

  “It doesn’t happen at my house.”

  “I’m sure I could arrange it.”

  Janice’s nostrils flared. “It also doesn’t happen in an assisted living facility.”

  It was only through an intense focus on those nostrils—honestly, they defied the laws of nature at that size—that Gretchen was able to remain calm. “We’ve already talked about this. Gran doesn’t want to go to a home. She’s happy where she is.”

  As it was clear Gretchen had no intention of backing down on this particular subject—no matter how many times it was broached—Janice released a long breath and tried for a smile. No change of tactics had ever been more obvious. “You look exhausted, Gretchen, you really do. All this worry and bother, and all on your own. Why don’t you come over for dinner on Friday night?”

  “Thanks. I’m busy.”

  “But I’ve already reorganized my schedule,” Janice protested, showing her hand. This was no casual plan of hers.

  “I can’t. I have a bout.”

  “A bout of what?” Janice wrinkled her nose and stepped away, separating herself from imaginary contagions. “Oh, you mean that roller skating thing. Can’t you miss it?”

  “No, Janice. I will not rearrange my life at the last minute to make way for yours.” Gretchen felt a profound urge to launch her sister in the bushes alongside the keys.

  “Don’t be stubborn. You know how hard it is for me to make room for this kind of stuff. It’s not like you have business trips, like Mary. Or poor Pauline and her five kids. Your life is full of nothing but free time.”

  Gretchen felt a familiar mounting frustration—the kind that made her think a future of furniture barricades and loaded rifles at the door might not be a bad idea. Janice wasn’t even being very subtle. The other Badgerton sisters had husbands, careers, children—all those things that validated them as human beings and transformed Gretchen into a big, fat nothing. Never mind that half of Mary’s business trips were a cover for an affair she was having with her boss at the marketing firm where she was senior vice president. Forget that Pauline had married a laze-about who couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger for his own kids. The fruits of their labor and their loins always took precedence over anything Gretchen did or said.

  “Can’t. Sorry.”

  “Gretchen, this is as much about you as it is me. More so. You know you’ve practically held Gran’s affections hostage since you were a teenager.”

  “Then you should know better than to negotiate with terrorists,” she returned, barely keeping her calm.

  True, Gran had never quite felt the same about the rest of the family after Gretchen moved in, but that was their own fault. At the time, no one had made the least push for Gretchen to return home—a clear case of out of sight, out of mind. Admittedly, she’d been a lot of trouble as a teen, but that feeling of rejection was a hard lesson for someone still in a training bra to learn. And Gran, bless her stodgy old heart, had taken up Gretchen’s battle as her own, no questions asked.

  Like her, Gran loved a scrapper. It was why they got along so well.

  “What do you even know about this Freddy guy?” Janice persisted.

  “I know he’s a life coach” she said carefully. “It says so on his business card.”

  “Life coach—” Janice lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level, “—is just a euphemism for the paid sex trade. I read a huge exposé about it online. What are you going to do if Freddy takes Gran for every last penny and leaves you with nothing? Huh? Have you thought about that?”

  “Well, no. Not really.”

  Janice missed the sarcasm completely. “Why is that not a surprise? Gran is getting old, and you know as well as we do that her hoarding is a real problem. She’s not as sharp as she used to be. Women much smarter than her fall prey to this kind of thing all the time.”

  “You think thousands of older women are running away with their life coaches?”

  “We’re not going to be here to catch you if something happens,” Janice warned. Gretchen wanted to ask her when they’d ever offered her open arms for anything, but decided—wisely, she might add—to keep her lips sealed.

  “One dinner. That’s all I’m asking. Just to talk.”

  Gretchen knew that keeping her lips sealed was the best idea. When dealing with stubborn, greedy siblings, silence was always the correct choice. Of course, such feats of superhuman strength took quite a bit out of her, especially when Janice added, “This is too much for someone like you to handle on your own. Let us help.”

  She felt fury wriggle through her. It was not too much. She did not need her help. Just because she chose to live an unambitious life with an old woman who loved too many antique tables didn’t mean she was any less important than her sisters.

  She knew it. Gran knew it. So why, oh why, did she feel the need to open her mouth and release the treacherous words?

  “It just so happens I have a date coming out to watch me play on Friday,” she said angrily. “Maybe you know him? Dr. Jared Fine?”

  Janice stared blankly at her, which only served to make Gretchen even more committed to her error in opening her mouth. She would knock her sister off her soapbox of false purity no matter what the cost.

  “Don’t pretend you have no idea who I’m talking about. Mary told me you went in to the new medspa to see about getting rid of your second chin.”

  That got a reaction. Janice’s hand flew to her neck, where the beginnings of a slight loosening of the skin were growing evident. Gretchen had always thought it was the sort of thing a smile every now and then
would do wonders to tighten.

  “I did no such thing.” Janice composed herself and gave an indignant toss of her head, chins flying. “I went in to get a massage. You know I carry all my tension in my shoulders.”

  “You make your husband carry all your tension. Let’s not kid ourselves.”

  Janice breathed deep. “Okay. I may have had a little consultation. Dr. Fine found me well-preserved for my age, I’ll have you know. Men like that always prefer a woman with a little experience.”

  “No, they don’t. Men like that prefer trophy wives who cater to their every whim.” They needed a mirror to bounce off all the excess arrogance.

  “Then why on earth is he dating you?”

  It was a good question—one she’d asked herself quite a few times in the past week. In her more honest moments, and with detailed reminiscences of his fixation on her tattoos, she suspected he might be slumming it.

  “He has a thing for roller skating. And hotpants.” That second one probably wasn’t too far off.

  “You’re serious about this?” Janice asked, looking interested for the first time. “You’re really dating Dr. Fine?”

  Despite their best efforts as a family, they’d only managed to become and/or snag an engineer, a low-level city politician and the aforementioned marketing VP. The money that came in was good, no question, but a doctor—especially a nationally renowned one—would go a long way in boosting Janice’s sense of self-satisfaction. Much better than a culinary school reject living at home with her grandmother could ever do.

  “Just because I didn’t get married at twenty doesn’t mean I can’t snag a man as well as any of you. Besides—I’m also well-preserved for my age.”

  “He’s awfully intense for you.” By which Janice clearly meant he wasn’t the usual riffraff Gretchen dated.

  “Then you see my hesitance in rearranging all my plans to suit you,” Gretchen said. “Dr. Fine is not a patient man, and he really wants to watch me play roller derby. So you’re going to have to reschedule.”

  Ever efficient, Janice whipped out her phone and started scrolling through. “Okay...how’s Tuesday for lunch at my house? I might also be able to swing a reservation for us at The Loghouse next weekend, but I’d have to call in a pretty big favor for it—”

  “You know what? Stop.” Gretchen held up a hand. “Gran has a standing appointment with Freddy on Saturday afternoons. Why don’t you just come over here then?”

  That gave her a definite start and stop time, since she could foist her sister out on the streets before Gran returned.

  “Here?” Janice cast a glinty-eyed look up at the house—that crumbling building she didn’t care to visit but coveted for her own.

  “Sure. You can even walk through and make an inventory while you’re here. That way you can start figuring out your inheritance now. It’ll save so much time later.”

  Even though her words had been laced with sarcasm—laden with it, really, so weighty they dragged from her lips—Janice perked and nodded. “That’s a really good idea. I can bring my P-touch so we can start labeling some of the bigger pieces.”

  “I was kidding.” Gretchen stared at her sister and wondered, for what had to be the millionth time, how they could be related. They shared the same blood, that much was legally documented, but not once had she ever felt a kinship with her beyond familial obligation. “You know what—forget I even mentioned it. Your place will be fine.”

  They made concrete plans for the weekend, and she had no doubt that Janice would go straight home to dig out her P-touch, just in case they decided to swing by the house afterward.

  As Janice reluctantly pulled away, watching her in the rearview mirror, Gretchen turned to the house. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, hoping to see what everyone else did to make this place such a hotbed of family contention. Even with her eyes blurred and crossed, she could still see the sagging of the roof’s northernmost gable, the chipping paint that was probably leaching lead into the groundwater.

  Sometimes, she felt the only thing holding it all together were the stacks of furniture on the inside acting as support beams.

  The house was just a house, Gran’s junk just junk.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Eight

  “I feel bad about the other day.”

  Gretchen smiled into the phone. No Hello, how are you. No Hey, it’s Jared. He jumped on in as though he was the only man in the world who might ring her up. As though she should have been on pins and needles awaiting his call, her hair in curlers and toenails drying.

  Well, too bad. She’d just spent forty-five minutes learning about combustion engines and was on her way home to take Gran to the doctor. She had a very full life, thank you very much. And the fluttering in her stomach was hunger pangs. Not pins. Not needles. A granola bar would take care of it in no time.

  “As you should,” she returned, holding her cell phone in the crook of her neck. “I cried into my pillow for hours.”

  With a smile and a wave at her study partner, a high school student going through an advanced-degree program, she hurried her pace toward the community college parking lot. She always had to take the long way to avoid passing the culinary annex—no need to invite any more mental anguish than was strictly necessary.

  “You forget I saw you with your face halfway beaten up. If that didn’t make you cry, I’m not holding my breath you’ll shed a tear for me.”

  Right. Because physical and emotional pain were the same thing. If only he knew how many tears she’d shed over men. And sisters. And ASPCA commercials. “If this is you trying to make it up to me, you kind of suck at it.”

  “You’re making it really difficult for me to ask you out right now. Haven’t you ever had to woo a guy? It’s nerve-racking.”

  “At the risk of tooting my own horn, I’ve never really had to do the asking. I’ve been told I’m quite desirable.” She shook her head, even though Jared obviously couldn’t see her through the phone. “No—wait. That’s not entirely true. In seventh grade, I asked Ricky Lawrence to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. He used to skip class and smoke out by the garbage cans. I spent a whole week bumming cigarettes until I got up the nerve to invite him.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Nope. He took Tammy Parker instead. Tammy developed early.”

  Jared’s soft chuckle lifted her feet until she was practically waltzing along the cement path.

  “It helps that my personal assets have come a long way since then.” She peeked down. Okay, so her cups didn’t exactly runneth over, but she was an athlete. Kind of. Did he have any idea how much the large-chested roller girls suffered when a wayward elbow came their way?

  “Have they? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “And I’m hanging up the phone.”

  “Of course, I’ve always considered myself more of an ass man.”

  “Okay—now I’m really hanging up.”

  He laughed again. “I only mean that you have what is quite possibly the bounciest, firmest ass I’ve ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes on. Sometimes I think I’d like to bite into it.”

  Dammit. This guy was good. He was purposefully riling her up with his condescension just to melt her into a puddle of backside-quivering goo. Push and pull. Hot and cold. Slap and tickle.

  “Did you call to deflate what’s left of my self-esteem, or did you want something?”

  “I always want something,” he said.

  “You and every other man on the planet.”

  “This one isn’t bad, I swear. It’s just...” He hesitated. “I have this thing.”

  “Maybe see a doctor?”

  “Cute. I mean it’s this event thing tomorrow. I thought you might like to come.”

  An event thing, huh? She straightened a little. She’d never done
a fancy doctor shindig before. And she did have this incredible slinky blue dress she’d been dying to wear.

  Okay, now there were a few pins prickling to life. Maybe even a needle or two.

  “Tell me more, Dr. Fine.”

  “It’s not a big deal. It’s actually at the place you take classes, which is the only reason I thought you might be interested.”

  “You want to go out...at the college campus?” She looked around, confused. Theirs was not one of those nice, historic educational facilities the northeast was known for. Pleasant Park only had a vocational training center—one that took its title very seriously. Concrete blocks built in the seventies sat like a child’s playthings left out in the rain. With the exception of a recently updated planetarium arising like a bold phallus from the science building and a handful of coffee stands, the only other entertainment provided here was the library.

  Even Jared couldn’t be so far out of touch with the real world he thought the library was a nice place to take a lady. Scandalous behavior in the stacks only counted if it was spontaneous. Otherwise it seemed creepy and desperate and not altogether unlike something Janice would do to spice up her marriage.

  “Well, it’s not a date, per se.”

  She stopped at the edge of the parking lot, searching the haphazard rows for signs of her car. She had the bad habit of never remembering where she parked. “I’m sorry—did you just throw some Latin to try and deflect me?”

  “I only know medical Latin and common terms. You can’t hold either one of those against me.” He paused. “The campus is doing a lecture series on the Pacific Rim, and I was invited to be one of the speakers.”

  “So, let me get this straight. Your grand, apologetic gesture here is to invite me to a free lecture hosted by the place I go to school so you can have a one-sided conversation with me and a hundred other people? Do I have it right?”

  “Well, when you say it that way, it seems much worse.”