Deanna led her into a living room furnished in beautiful antiques. The tables were delicate, the fabrics traditional. Andi would guess the room looked much as it had a hundred years ago. She thought of her makeshift attic living space and the brightly colored mural Boston would be painting for her and knew she and Deanna had virtually nothing in common.
Andi settled on a small settee and tried to smile. There was no easy way to start this conversation.
Deanna sat across from her, perching on the edge of a chair, waiting expectantly. Andi drew in a breath.
“Madison came in to see me today,” she said, then held up a hand. “Everything is fine. I don’t want you to worry. But I do need to speak to you about something.”
“All right.” Deanna frowned. “You treated her?”
“No, although there is a permission-to-treat form on file. I actually just spoke with her. She had some concerns.” Andi leaned forward. “Madison started her period a couple of days ago. She felt she had to talk to an adult, which is why she came to me. I went over all the basics with her and got her set up with supplies.”
Deanna stared at her. “I don’t understand. You’re telling me that my daughter got her first period and told you rather than me?”
Her voice was low and strained, the words clipped.
Andi nodded. Her gaze dropped to Deanna’s tightly grasped hands. To fingers that were chapped to the point of being raw. The flaking, angry-looking skin was at odds with the rest of Deanna’s perfect appearance.
Not an issue for this second, Andi told herself.
“I felt it was important for you to know what’s going on with your daughter. And I wanted to offer my support if—”
Deanna sprang to her feet. Her face flushed and her eyes hardened.
“How dare you come here like this! Who do you think you are? You had no right. You should have sent her home to me. She’s my child. Mine. Not yours. I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re going to get out right now.”
Andi stood. “Deanna, I wasn’t trying to take anything from you. That’s why I’m here. So we can talk about it.”
“Talk about it?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “When it’s too late? Is this what you do? Fill your pathetic, empty life with other people’s children?” Her voice rose. “You got in the middle of something that doesn’t involve you. You never had my permission to talk to her about her period. To be a part of that rite of passage. You overstepped your bounds, Doctor.”
She stalked to the door and held it open. “You need to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” Andi said, walking past her. “Deanna, please, there’s a bigger problem.”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my children. Don’t tell me what’s wrong. You don’t know anything.”
The last words were delivered in a scream. Andi felt her face get hot. Her stomach twisted and her hands were shaking. She hurried down the stairs, eager to get away before she did something really stupid like starting to cry.
When she reached the sidewalk, she turned toward her house, but realized she didn’t want to go inside. What if someone had heard the screaming? She couldn’t explain what had happened—as Madison’s doctor, she couldn’t discuss it with anyone but the girl’s parents.
She stood on the sidewalk wondering why it had to be like this. Every time she started to think she could fit in, something happened to mess her up. Was the universe sending her a message? Should she simply admit defeat and pack her bags?
She knew the answer before she finished asking the question, but everyone needed a few moments of self-pity now and then. The trick was how to keep it from becoming a lifestyle choice.
Not knowing where else to go, she started for her house. Maybe she could slip upstairs without being seen. But before she reached it, Boston stepped out of her front door and motioned her over.
“Do I want to ask?” the redhead asked as she approached.
Andi sighed. “One of Deanna’s kids came by to talk to me today. I was filling her in on the details.”
“She obviously didn’t like what you were saying.”
“Not really.”
Boston touched her arm. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not good at confrontation.”
Boston surprised her by hugging her. Strong arms held her for several seconds. Andi hugged her back, appreciating the show of support.
When Boston stepped away, she smiled. “Normally I’m a big believer in the power of tea, but right now I think a glass of wine is the better option. What do you think?”
Andi dropped her purse on the small table in the entryway and followed her into the kitchen. “Wine sounds perfect.”
* * *
Deanna leaned against the closed front door of her house. She pressed a hand to her stomach to stop the roiling of bile and the small quarter sandwich she’d managed to get down at lunch. Hatred burned in her throat, the bitterness of it nearly making her gag.
That bitch, she thought viciously. That raging bitch. So sanctimonious, so sure she knew everything. All smug with her education and her job. Bitch, bitch, bitch.
But the pain deep in her heart had nothing to do with Andi and everything to do with the news she’d delivered. There was no escaping it. Madison really did hate her, Deanna thought, barely able to grasp the truth, let alone accept it. This wasn’t teenaged rebellion or a stage. It was loathing. The kind Deanna had felt for her own mother.
What she didn’t know was why it had happened. Where had her sweet baby girl gone? When had everything changed? Until a couple of years ago, she and Madison had been so close. It had always been the two of them, working as a team. Madison had helped with the younger girls, staying close, wanting to be a part of the family. Now all that was gone.
Deanna drew in a breath. She glanced out the window and saw Andi speaking with Boston. The two women went into Boston’s house. No doubt they were going to talk about her. About what a shitty mother she was. How her own daughter couldn’t bring herself to share anything intimate with her.
Madison had gotten her period and didn’t want her to know. How could that be?
The walls of the house seemed to move in on her. She felt the familiar sense of urgency and knew that if she gave in, if she walked into the bathroom and turned on the water, she might never stop. She thought about driving away and not coming back. She thought about walking into traffic and letting the problem solve itself.
Instead she turned to the stairs. “Madison,” she called.
She heard a heavy sigh and then, “Yes?”
“I have to run next door. Please look after your sisters.”
Normally her oldest objected to taking care of her sisters. But instead of complaining, Madison simply said, “Okay.”
Deanna wondered if her complacence had anything to do with guilt. She could only hope the girl still had enough caring left that guilt was possible.
She walked out of her house and started down the sidewalk. When she reached Boston’s porch, she hesitated a second, before firmly ringing the bell. She heard footsteps, and then the door opened.
Under other circumstances, Boston’s wide-eyed shock would have been comical. As it was, her neighbor’s expression confirmed Deanna’s worst fears. Everyone knew her daughter hated her and knew she was to blame.
“I need to talk to you,” Deanna said. “I know Andi’s here. I need to talk to her, too.”
Boston held open the door and pointed to the rear of the house. Deanna walked down the long hallway, ignoring the fairies, the hideous color choices and telling herself she would get through this. That she would find a way and then she would stop feeling so afraid all the time.
In the kitchen, Andi sat at the counter. There were two glasses of wine, a plate of cheese and an open box of water crackers. When Deanna walk
ed into the room, Andi’s expression mirrored Boston’s.
“Don’t worry,” Deanna told her. “I didn’t come armed.”
“Good to know.”
Boston pulled out a stool. Deanna slumped onto it and then took the offered glass of wine. She gulped about half of it before sucking in a breath and wondering why they were both so blurry.
She touched her cheek with her free hand and felt the tears, then set down the glass and started to cry in earnest.
Harsh, ugly sobs choked her, making her gasp as her chest heaved. She struggled to stop, but couldn’t. Embarrassment joined pain until she was nothing but a wound, bleeding and infected.
Tissues were pushed into her hand. She felt reassuring touches on her shoulder. Andi said something and Boston disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a washcloth. She wet it and pressed it to the back of Deanna’s neck.
Deanna had no idea how long she cried. The sobs slowed, then became hiccups. She was able to catch her breath and blow her nose. The pile of tissues grew as she wiped her face. Andi turned the cloth over, putting the cool side against her skin, then lightly held her wrist.
“I’m not having a stroke,” Deanna said. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not a doctor and even I can tell that’s not true,” Boston told her. She pushed the glass of wine closer. “Have some more. I think you need it.”
Deanna tried to pick up the glass, but her fingers were shaking too much. Then she noticed her raw skin and tucked her hands under the counter.
Boston settled on a stool on the kitchen side of the counter. Andi took her seat next to Deanna. They were both watching her cautiously.
“I’m okay,” Deanna said, then decided she didn’t care enough to hide her hands and reached for her wine again. This time she managed to sip from the glass.
“Actually I’m not okay,” she admitted. “Everything is wrong. Colin cheated.”
The other women glanced at each other, then back at her. Deanna shook her head.
“No,” she said quickly. “He didn’t. I don’t even know why I said that.” She paused. “That’s not true, either. I do know why. Because if he cheated, then nothing is my fault, right? He’s the bad guy, I’m the victim and I win. How sad is that? How sad is it that I want my husband to have had an affair because then none of this would be my fault?”
Boston squeezed her forearm, but didn’t speak.
Deanna looked at each of them. “They hate me. Colin, the girls. Madison, especially.” She turned to Andi. “That’s why she didn’t want to tell me.” She felt tears swimming in her eyes. “She didn’t want to share that with me. I don’t know if it was about keeping it to herself or punishing me. Either way, I get her point. She looks at me the way I used to look at my mother. But I don’t understand why. I’m nothing like her.”
Boston continued to hang on, her fingers moving against Deanna’s arm. The touch was oddly comforting. For the first time in weeks, Deanna no longer felt completely alone.
“I take care of them,” she continued. “I cook and clean and Colin tells me I’m rigid and controlling. He says he thinks I don’t love him and I like his paycheck a lot more than him. That he only gets in the way. Madison says I’m more concerned with how things look than how they are. That I want everything perfect.” She swallowed. “I do want perfect. I want my life clean and nice. Why is that so bad? Why don’t they understand?”
She finished her wine. “My mom drank and there wasn’t any food in the house and she locked me in the closet and I swore I would be different. That my children would never be hungry or embarrassed or afraid. Then they look at me the way I looked at my mom and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” She paused to breathe in what she’d been avoiding for weeks. “But the worst part is that I think maybe all the stuff they say about me might be true.”
* * *
Andi could see the emotional cracks in Deanna without even looking very hard. For once, her neighbor was mussed, her face blotchy and swollen, her shoulders slumped. She was human and hurting, and in her pain, Andi felt empathy.
“Madison’s confused by a lot of things right now,” she said gently. “When parents are fighting, the kids get scared. That makes them act out.”
“I don’t want them to be afraid. I just want them to...” Deanna shook her head. “I guess I don’t know anymore. What I want, I mean. I would say I want what we had before, but not if everyone thinks I’m horrible. I just wanted things to be nice.”
“You can be a little intense,” Boston told her. “I know it’s your way of staying in control, but there are consequences to being so rigid.”
Deanna stared at her. “I don’t know how to be any other way.”
Boston smiled unexpectedly. “None of us do. That’s the point of life. Haven’t you figured that out yet? All of this—” She motioned to her kitchen. “It’s a facade to keep the demons at bay. Some of us are better at faking it than others, but we all have our issues.”
Deanna looked at Andi. “You don’t. Look at you. You’re so beautiful and a doctor.”
If Andi had been drinking, she would have choked. “I’m the screwup in my family. My mother’s disappointed that I’m not a pediatric neurosurgeon or doing cutting-edge research. I just found out my sister’s research group is on the short list for a Nobel Prize. I dated a guy for ten years who finally proposed. He left me standing at the altar, literally. We had three hundred guests, including his mother, and he didn’t bother to show up. Later, when we finally talked, he said he wasn’t sure and needed more time. Two weeks later, he ran off with his secretary. To make matters worse, I just recently figured out he was always trying to change me and even though I resisted, I never called him on it. Now I’m not sure I ever loved him at all.”
Andi refilled her glass. “You can’t make that shit up.”
Boston drew in a breath. “I can’t work. I haven’t painted anything decent since Liam died.” She turned to Andi. “That mural project is the most I’ve been able to do.” She turned back to Deanna. “I haven’t cried, either. Not once. I can’t. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe if I finally cry, I’ll have to admit he’s really gone.”
Deanna put her elbow on the table and raised her glass. “I guess this means we’re all completely screwed up, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Sixteen
BY THE FOLLOWING Monday afternoon, Andi was still feeling pretty good about her encounter with Deanna and Boston, and she was a whole lot happier with her decision to move to the neighborhood. It was comforting to know that everyone was completely messed up nearly all the time. That she wasn’t the only one trying to figure out how to fake her way through the tough stuff.
Knowing what Deanna was going through put her actions in a different perspective. History defined a person, and from the little she’d shared, Deanna was dealing with more than most. Andi could feel sympathy for both her and her daughter. Madison only saw the results of old patterns. Andi hoped the two of them could find a way to break through and really connect.
She parked in front of her house and walked inside. Instead of battered subflooring, gleaming hardwood reflected the bright afternoon sun.
Wade walked toward her.
“I’m desperately in love,” she said, reaching down to run her hand over the smooth surface. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’ll be better when it’s finished. We’re going to have to cover them to protect them while we complete the rest of the work, but I wanted you to see them.”
She stood and sighed. “I have floors. Like a real person.”
He chuckled. “You’re easy to please.”
“Which is different than being easy. Just so you’re clear on that.”
“I am clear.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure they were alone. “Which brings me to our other topic. About
before. The kiss.”
The kiss she’d been dreaming about for the past four nights? The kiss that had left her breathless and purring? That kiss?
“Do I need to apologize?” he asked.
“Did you want to?”
“No, but you’re a doctor.”
She tilted her head. “What does that have to do with anything? Do you think doctors take a no-kissing oath?”
He shifted his weight. The movement was subtle, but just enough to make her wonder if he was nervous. Wade? Nervous around her? It didn’t seem possible, but she could read the signs.
“I’m a contractor.”
“Yes. I know. That’s why I hired you to fix up my house. It would be so awkward if you were an accountant.”
“You don’t see a problem with our career choices?”
“Not if you like what you do for a living. I happen to enjoy being a doctor.”
She studied him. “I’m genuinely confused by this line of conversation. The doctor thing shouldn’t be an issue. All that studying of anatomy means we know things. Isn’t that kind of intriguing?”
He gave her a slow, sexy grin. One that made her usually sensible toes curl. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
It occurred to her that her mouth was writing checks her girl parts might not be able to cash, but that was a problem for another day.
“You’re happy with the floors?” he asked.
“Very.”
“And the kissing.”
“That, too.”
His dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “Want to do it again sometime?”
“I could be persuaded.”
“How about dinner?”
“I could do that, too.”
“Carrie has some school stuff going on over the next week, but right after that?”
“That sounds great.”
* * *
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