“Get out of my way,” hisses Weasel, pushing me aside.
Mr. Dudley yells, “Where did that cat come from?”
“Bad kitty to leave me.” Daria reaches for her cat.
Godzilla’s pupils are huge and black with terror. HSSTTT! She leaps off the table and streaks out of the room.
Daria shrieks. “Gazella! Come back! Gazella!” She runs out.
“Lock that cat up!” orders Mr. Dudley, following her.
Where is the poop? I scan the table. Nothing but tipped glasses, napkins and scattered food. I grab the dishes and move them to the counter. The poop has to be on the tablecloth. I hope.
David says, “I’ll help.”
“No!” A flash of fear shakes my knees.
David looks at me, surprised.
“Go do your garden stuff.”
“You sure?” David asks.
“I’ve done everything by myself up to now,” I say.
David winces. “I’m sorry.”
Claire says, “Let me help you.”
Now my hands shake along with my legs. Train wreck. “You’d better get started on your thank you notes.”
“It won’t take long with two of us,” Claire says.
“Please, Claire. I really want to do this by myself. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“I understand.” The light goes out of her face.
“It would be great if you could help me tomorrow,” I say.
She smiles. “It’s a deal.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness Weasel insists on being ‘proper’ by using a tablecloth. I clear off the last dishes, fold the cloth carefully and hurry upstairs. I run into Daria.
She screams at me. “I know you kidnapped my cat.”
I want to yell at her, but don’t. “Your cat was playing hide and seek with you. I’m glad she’s back.”
“What are you doing with that dirty thing?” she asks, pointing to the tablecloth.
“Nothing.” I hurry to the attic and unlock the door.
“I’ll find out what you’re hiding.” Daria smirks and flounces off.
I lock the door. Fairy Godmonster paces the floor restlessly.
“What were you doing downstairs?” I ask.
“Chill. I was looking for cat poop.”
“You’re making me crazy. Stay upstairs.” I unfold the tablecloth.
Fairy Godmonster grabs the Luster Detector. The purple lights show a big pile of poop under the mess of food.
“What a relief. Can you grab it?” asks Fairy Godmonster.
“Do I have to?” I ask.
“You said you don’t want me to leave this room.”
Glaring at her, I grab a cloth napkin from the mess and pick up the poop. It’s squishy. I find the NTMT chip. Instantly, the poop appears.
“Ugh!” I hold my breath. Cat poop is beyond horrible.
“Quick open the door,” I yell.
“Give me the chip,” orders Fairy Godmonster.
I wipe it clean and hand it to her as she unlocks the door. I run out and head for the bathroom.
Luckily, Daria is out of sight. I throw the poop in the toilet and wash the napkin out in the sink. Then I scrub my hands until I can’t smell anything.
Fairy Godmonster is sprawled on the bed in a lacy nightgown when I return. Her magic whip lies next to her.
“Guess the NTMT chip works.” I say.
She kicks her whip off the bed. “It does. Too bad the whip doesn’t.”
Chapter 21: Work Ahead - Confrontation
The next week crawls like cold honey. I clean house even in my dreams. I hardly see or talk to anyone except Fairy Godmonster. Frustrated that her whip can’t help me, she exercises all day and complains about being confined to the attic.
Weasel spends her time cooking and on the telephone with caterers, rental agencies, bakers, decorators and musicians.
Mr. Dudley lives on his cell phone, but somehow keeps track of what’s going on.
Daria stalks me while Godzilla sheds all over the clean furniture. When I ask her to help keep the cat hair off, she tells me that, “Rich people don’t work.”
David works day and night in the barn because everything he orders comes late. John takes turns helping him and me in the stable.
Dad is on his way home and never has time to talk more than a minute. I can’t wait to talk about Mom with him.
I rarely see Claire except the day the dresses come. I’m scrubbing the refrigerator when she runs in from shopping in Salem. “Come in the living room. I want you to see my dress.”
I look at the cleaning I still have to do. Oh, well. It’s not going anywhere. I wash my hands and follow her.
Claire unwraps the wedding dress. The creamy white top sparkles in clusters of rhinestones and pearls that flow in a curve down the long skirt.
“Sweet!” I exclaim. “Oh, Claire, it’s beautiful!”
Claire smiles. “Thanks.”
“I know it’s rude to ask, but how much does a dress like this cost?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
“For a dress?” I squeak.
“Rhinestones would have been fine, but Mother insisted on diamonds.”
“Diamonds.” I touch one. “You’re lucky.”
“Yes, I am. To find David. Look at the veil.” She opens another box. Inside is a delicate tiara of pearls and diamonds hooked to material as fine as mist.
“It’s perfect for you, Claire.”
She glows. “Thank you. I can’t wait to get married.” She gets a dreamy look on her face.
“Where are you going to live?”
“As far away from my mother as possible,” she says quietly.
“I’m going to tell Mommy,” whines Daria behind us.
“Go do something useful,” Claire tells her.
Daria runs out of the room screaming.
“Brat,” says Claire. “David hasn’t decided where he wants to start his business. Until he does, we hope your father will let us stay here.”
“Dad will jump at the chance.”
She says, “I hope so.”
I blurt, “I’d like having you around, too.”
Claire smiles and my world lights up. “Thanks. Let’s find your dress.”
She sorts through the boxes. Names are written on the outside.
“Here it is.”
“Do you care if I take it upstairs? I need to get back to work.”
She frowns. “If Mother would leave me alone for two seconds, I would help you.
It’s not fair you have to work so hard. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“Claire!” calls Weasel. She shrugs apologetically and hurries away.
I grab my dress box and run upstairs. I don’t even know the colors of the wedding. Some maid-of-honor I am.
Unlocking the door, I lay the box on the bed.
“Open it.” Fairy Godmonster glides over excitedly.
I pull the tissue paper aside. Remove the hanger.
“No,” I moan. Why do people think pink looks good on redheads?
“Try it,” urges Fairy Godmonster.
I put it on and stand in front of the mirror. The dress looks better on the hanger. The puffed sleeves bring attention to my boobs. The full skirt helps fill out my slender hips, but the dropped waist makes my legs look short. Way uncool.
“Bummer,” says Fairy Godmonster as she turns me around. “That woman has no imagination.”
I throw the dress on the bed in a heap. Fairy Godmonster hangs it in the armoire as I leave.
Trudging back to work, I notice Claire and Weasel head to head, talking. I never miss a mom as much as I do now.
Overhearing the stuff about Claire’s birth mom eats at me. Finally, at the end of the week, I corner David outside. “We need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, this is about Claire. Come into the stable.”
&nb
sp; David follows me and asks, “What?”
“I overheard Mr. and Mrs. Dudley talking about Claire’s birth mother.
“Were you eavesdropping?”
I frown at him. “Not exactly.”
He sighs. “Okay, out with it.”
“Claire’s Mother is one of Mrs. Dudley’s sisters.”
“What!”
“It gets worse. She lives in this state. You have to tell Claire.”
David starts pacing. “She’s stressed-out enough without having to cope with another mother. It could ruin the wedding.”
“What if she wants her birth mother to come? Is it fair to keep this from Claire?”
Claire walks into the stable. “Keep what from me?”
I stare at David. He sinks against a wall.
She runs to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Claire.” He takes her into his arms. “I love you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” mumbles David.
“Tell me, please,” coaxes Claire.
He looks into her eyes. “I can’t hurt you.”
“You’re scaring me, David.”
I blurt out, “Would you want to know about your birth mom now?
Silence. Even the horses are quiet.
Claire turns and faces me. “Yes.”
“I overheard a conversation your parents had. They know her.”
Claire turns white and her knees buckle. David holds her tight.
“Why didn’t they tell me?” she asks.
“You’ll have to ask them,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry if it upsets you.” I glare at David. “I know what’s it’s like when people keep the truth from you.”
Claire pulls out of David’s arms. “They won’t keep it from me any longer.” She stalks out of the stable.
David chases after her. “Wait. Let me come with you.”
I’ve never heard anger in Claire’s voice until now. “You might as well, since we’re going to be one big, happy family.”
We follow her into the kitchen. Weasel looks up from the notes she is writing.
“Where is Daddy?” Claire’s eyes shoot sparks.
“In the living room, I think. What’s wrong, Claire?”
“My life, Mother. Come with me.”
Weasel searches our eyes, but David and I say nothing.
We follow them into the living room.
Daria pouts by her father’s side. He hangs up when he sees Claire’s face.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
She takes a deep breath. “I would like you to tell me, right now, who my mother is.”
“I am your mother,” asserts the Weasel.
“My birth mother.”
The fear in Weasel’s eyes when she looks at Mr. Dudley slams into my heart.
“I don’t think this is the appropriate time or place to discuss this.” Weasel starts to walk out of the room.
Claire says, “You know who she is.”
Weasel crumples to the sofa next to her husband.
“Go to your room, Daria,” orders Mr. Dudley.
“I’m in this family, too.”
“Go!” Mr. Dudley scowls at Daria.
She scuttles up the staircase and peeks around the corner.
“How did you find out?” asks Weasel staring at me.
“That is irrelevant. I’m not leaving this room until I know the truth.”
“Not in front of strangers,” sighs Weasel.
“They are part of our family. I want them to hear.”
Mr. Dudley pats his wife’s hand. “You knew this day would come, Erminia.”
Weasel says nothing, so Mr. Dudley starts. “Your mother practically raised her brothers and sisters. They didn’t appreciate her strict ways, but she was determined that they would escape their poverty. She succeeded. They grew into responsible adults, able to take care of themselves. Except for her youngest sister. Miranda was the hellion who fought her sister’s rules every step of the way.”
Mr. Dudley pats his wife’s hand. “When I met your mother, she was twenty-seven, but looked forty. I fell in love with this woman who would give away her youth to raise her siblings. I proposed to her. Then we found out that Miranda was pregnant. She was fifteen.”
I gasp. My age.
Weasel speaks softly. “You have to understand that being raised in Appalachia,
things were very different. We were dirt poor. Miranda’s boyfriend was sixteen and making bootleg whiskey for his grandpa. He disappeared when he found out she was pregnant.”
Tears fall as she whispers, “Miranda wanted to abort you.”
Feeling awful, I watch Claire’s eyes fill with tears.
David grabs her hand.
Mr. Dudley continues, “We got married and told Miranda that we would adopt her baby if she would carry it full term. We gave her everything she could possibly want, except money.
“She made your mother’s life miserable. After you were born, Miranda left the hospital. She sold you for fifty dollars and disappeared. When the police called us, you were almost dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire mumbles. She rushes to hug Weasel.
“Your mother stayed in the hospital fighting to help keep you alive,” adds Mr. Dudley.
“Did my birth mother ever try to see me?” asks Claire.
“She called for money,” sneers Weasel.
“Be fair, Erminia. She was only fifteen. After she grew up, she wanted to see Claire. Your mother refused.”
“I never want to see Miranda as long as I live. I will never forgive her.” Weasel stands up and leaves the room.
Whoa. Not knowing the truth about my mom was bad. This is awful. I swallow hard. A wave of guilt covers my heart in darkness.
“I’m sorry sweetheart,” David says.
“Where is my birth mother?” asks Claire.
“She lives in Oregon,” replies Mr. Dudley.
“I want to meet her, Daddy.”
He wipes his sweaty brow. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Your wedding is day-after tomorrow.”
“I need to see her. Please make it happen.” Claire strides out of the room.
Mr. Dudley sighs.
David and I leave the room. He says, “I hope you’re happy.” He stomps away.
I drag upstairs.
Daria follows me down the hall to my door. I unlock it.
“That’s a neat key. Can I see it?”
“No. It’s just a key.”
“What are you hiding in there?” she asks, whining.
“Leave me alone.”
“Is that where you locked up Gazella?”
I slam the door in her face, exhausted. My head aches. This is the worst day of my life.
Boy, am I wrong.
Chapter 22: Pass At Your Own Risk
Claire’s eyes are puffy and red when I come in for a late breakfast the next morning. The smell of burnt toast and bacon scorches the air.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mom refuses to come out of the bedroom and I can’t cook. I can’t do anything. I’ll make a terrible wife.” Tears race down her face.
“You can learn. Besides, until you do, David can teach you. He’s a good cook. Where’s everybody?”
“They ate cereal and fruit and left.”
I sit beside her. “I’m sorry you had to learn about your birth mother now.”
“I’m not. It’s a relief to know something. The empty hole inside isn’t so big anymore.”
“Strange, huh? I finally opened one of my mom’s trunks and found a diary she wrote to me. It makes everything different.”
Claire wipes her tears and smiles. “I’m so glad. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I want to talk with Dad first. Besides, I’m starving.” Dragging out more bacon,
eggs and bread I ask, “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Watch and learn.” I get two clean frying pans, turn on
the oven and throw bacon in one.
“What were you doing before you met David?” I ask.
“Taking a few classes at the university.”
“What was your major?”
“I didn’t really have one. Mom wanted me to be something other than a wife and mother. I was taking classes to please her.”
Putting oil in the other pan, I crack the eggs into it and flip the bacon. “Are you interested in anything?”
“I love math. I’m kind of a whiz and can do calculations in my head.”
“That’s cool.”
She smiles slightly. “What good is it?”
“You could take a business course and help David. Being great at math can open doors to lots of exciting careers.”
Claire says, “I could, couldn’t I? I’m so used to having everything done for me, I never considered being useful.”
“Did you think David was going to do everything for you?”
Claire smiles. “When you’re in love, you don’t think about anything else.”
“Better watch out. You don’t want to be another dumb blond.”
She laughs and we eat.
I barely see anyone except Daria lurking around for the rest of the day, so I finish washing the windows. I’m so sore from all the extra chores, it seems like I’m moving in slow motion.
Weasel has Claire doing more errands, even though she doesn’t come out of the bedroom. John studies for exams and Mr. Dudley spends most of the day on the phone.
Doing dishes after a dinner of sandwiches, I hear Mr. Dudley’s voice boom from the living room. “Daria, be quiet. I have to take this call. You will have to wait.”
She whines, “You never keep promises.”
“Go away.”
I hear her slam out the front door. Then the door slams again.
Daria skips into the kitchen. “There’s a horse trailer outside.”
“Dad!” I drop everything and run. Daria beats me to the front door and bars the way, pouting.
“Move, Daria.”
She opens the door slowly and goes out first. I want to push her aside, but restrain myself.
Dad jumps out of the horse trailer and waves. His smile is so big it could eat you up. Scott follows him, whistling. I can’t believe how much I missed that.
“Hey, Dad! Scott!” I wave in excitement. Rushing forward, I trip and fall headfirst toward the steps. I catch the railing with one hand, slip and hit my cheekbone on the top step. Blood spurts everywhere. I grab my cheek, knowing from experience how much head wounds bleed. I think of Mom and am thankful that I don’t have the disease she carried.
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